her a witch. There was a caldron in her closet where the smell of sour and mint filled the air… Luisian did not mind her absence and came out on the porch and started pondering, skipping pebbles across the surface of the water.
Chapter 4
Earlyborn and Zhenia started a long journey. They went out after lunch, walked along and across the Seine, visited the Notre-Dame and enjoyed the time, only they did not get into the Eiffel Tower. They did not do it only because Earliborn said, “I’ve got a lot more fascinating view behind my window!”, but still even after they went boating they felt lack of satisfaction from today’s stroll. Thus they came to a decision not to set out tomorrow (not to mention at the crack of dawn :) ), at least, after lunch or when they would be able to do something about that lack of satisfaction. When they headed for the home, they had a look at the Eiffel Tower, which Zhenia saw on his calendar in the kitchen and came across on the road to Paris many times: it was depicted in various banners, painted beautifully as patterns on trains, and it associated with memories about dreams of youth in his consciousness that towered above all his later life as the Eiffel Tower, and the sun, grown up for the day, was shining on the back of their heads. If you call in mind that incredibly pleasant sense in feet when you have just moved to another country, or observed your town from different side or been working as a food delivery man with no rest, and eventually sat on a bench ruled with the weight of you full with impressions head, you will realize the desire of Earlyborn and Zhenia to sit on a bench below their window and view the red blush of the aged sun. It was worth watching. Appearing out of depleted during winter chestnut brunches near the Eiffel Tower, the Sun gazed at wanderers with warm light, it had written an excellent ingenious poem. From her small travel backpack Earlyborn took a silvery thermos, which was getting the colour of setting beams as though they were not the beams, but the skates of the Sun, and the Sun was not the Sun, but a famous ice skater at the children New Year competition, who was invited there as a special guest. The thermos with the colour of skates smelled of something warm and light as a feather, maybe of steam, however, when Zhenia unscrewed the cover with his stronger hand—of hot mint tea from the Caucasus fields which they managed to brew being at old lady’s.
At times, we are asked questions on the meaning of life, at times we ask them, and that often mostly happens on the hoof, in a hurry; so is same with answers, for example: the reason to live is in a spruce. Live in the way you can gain the wisdom of that tree and may the events in your life pass as fresh as the smell of a spruce and fit together like needles on a brunch in the winter frost. You see it is heresy. Sometimes as now, drinking tea and looking at the disk of the setting Sun, you may well understand: the meaning of life is to always have a ready-brewed thermos of tea and see the Sun still setting but not hiding in the dark of the night. Zhenia shared tea with Earlyborn and, staring at the icy Sun’s rays, started musing over the idea of how it was good that his sister had exactly that name. To tell the truth, he loved his sister since she had grown up into that extraordinary individual. To tell the truth, he supposed himself particular mainly because his sister was so. As happiness is not everlasting, so the Sun, as it befits, also hid behind gloomy clouds of the time, left the dusk and the rest day, all remaining sunbeams, which were send there, down to the Earth, yet had not touched it, for the moon and night to eat. There were no more tea after some frost, some snow, the evening and the thirst took over the siblings. It must be said they were not disappointed on that account for the end of one is the occasion to start something another, new. An empty mug of tea is only the point to brew some new tea, which (just as you choose) may be hundred times better than the old one, as the Eiffel Tower happened to be more beautiful from the Earlyborn’s balcony than from its one.
Termination of any doing of your life has, definitely, a sprinkle of frustration. And the bigger this frustration is, the more opportunities to alter your future grow up. To excel yourself in doing your next action comparing to your previous might-have-been! Imagine what a great number of thoughts attacked your head in a brainstorm when you merely (it happened like that) could not get up in time for about a week in a row. Two weeks in a row… So how strong must your indignation be in the case when you cannot cope with yourself for a week or two? If your indignation is truly powerful and sincere, something should happen, something should come to your mind, something that will cause huge changes and give you an impulse, a portion of genius! Say you got rid of that very unhealthy habit or of mental disorder, which was on your road to the full living, and, all in all, not only will you be able to get up in time, but hear people and see their point as no one else under the sun can! The chief thing is to continue doing. How will you be tortured by the idea that you do everything but have nothing to reap if you do not continue, after all? You will more likely berate yourself for doing nothing, and, as a consequence, of course, will learn how to manage with everything, but it would be more time-consuming. The desire to work is said to emanate from a person himself.
Again sitting on her much loved tiny balcony, Earlyborn puzzled herself with only one question. It floated into an abyss of wind, into that cold time when two or three hours after the sunset passed away, “How am I to live?” Neither the Ursa Major, so suddenly appeared in the starless winter sky, neighboring the Orion’s belt, nor the young Venus could not or did not want to answer her question. Meanwhile Zhenia went to bed, and she was about going to do the same, yet she did not do that; on the contrary, she came out to the place which was the only one that could gladden her in Paris, and decided to immense herself again into the fairy-tale night of meditation and bright melancholy. Besides, the answer to the question she posed to the stars or gloomy twilight could guide her even not in Paris, but, for one, in Strasbourg or somewhere on the outskirts; she would go after the answer wearing her nightgown, well-tailored as fashionable as those winter patterns in the starry sky, only, being not ashamed of her slight bareness. I suppose, we all, naked and in nightgowns would be ready to run after that answer, like after the treasure fallen so unexpectedly as the Christmas wonder together with snow, and to creep as troublemaker kids somewhere in that snow in attempt to discover the answer as a needle in a haystack with the joy about the snow which the only one was present. There is still no answer, the snow does not fall in the darkness as on the head of grieve Paris night, and those who were lucky to unearth the answer one day, have already hidden, like needles of answers in the snow, in the earth interior, covered with seven blankets, or speak with each other in a secret place in a beggarly hamlet, so that it is impossible for us to find them anywhere. We are forced to sit in nightgowns—as a kind of sign to the fate and life showing that we are ready to run as it is, almost naked. Yet we are not yet those who deserve getting the answer. These speculations did not let Earlyborn feel better, and she, sipping a new cap of Dominican coffee, continued basking frosty beams of January cold. One aphorism is said to be familiar to you: he who seeks, will find; while Earlyborn was looking for the answer without giving up, by the way, a curious thought came into her mind: “We should live absolutely in movement for only looking ahead without dwelling on how you skate, you will grasp the process of skating at the life ice rink, and then and only then you will adore doing that.” “Nice,” Earlyborn said, observing the area beneath her balcony and the lights in the Tower, “but how to start focus on action?” Here is one of the main matters, which we are going to tackle throughout the book… For now Earlyborn examined starry sky: the Ursa Major was right above the roof of her house, illuminating the young lady with string of lights with shapes, similar to Christmas toys and fireworks. Earlyborn planned to draw a projection of the stars on her life, like with a thin brush of gouache on the space canvas, and to mark out the course to Antarctic precisely with these patterns. Enlightenment, seems, dawned on Earlyborn at that very moment :) All of a sudden, she understood that all miseries and failures which snowed her under, were not that important neither for her and certainly nor for the Madagascar cockroaches in her head, which visit any woman in Paris. She realized that she was to exult. She realized that if you have nothing to change in your life to be blissful or you have to alter everything, that means there is no need for you to change anything. Except for the attitude to life. On that joyful bass note Earlyborn continued her night adventures, forwarding her glance in the dreamworld. The left crater on the Moon started jerking…
Chapter 5
Luisian got up and was willing to continue working. And there was a phrase
